WildStar: Storm
by Hawki
Summary: Buck helped the Exiles discover Nexus, but he didn't stay to help them maintain their independence. It was a big galaxy ruled by a large Dominion and sooner or later, they would re-establish control. All that was left was for him to do what he'd always done - gunrunning, smuggling, and being a badass. Fate, however, had other plans. As did the Dominion itself...
1. Always Shoot First

**WildStar: Storm**

**Chapter 1: Always Shoot First**

"Buck Hieronomous Smith."

"Is that the alias I'm using? Man, it's hard to keep track of them all."

"You stand accused of rebellion, insurgency-"

"Aren't they the same thing?"

"And gunrunning."

"Now you're just making stuff up."

"You will be apprehended. You will be tried. You shall be sentenced."

"Well, so much for presumption of innocence."

"You're testing me. It won't work."

Buck smirked. It _had _worked. The Dominion lackey had let him get under his skin just as surely as beads of sweat were covering the exterior of said skin. Cawley was a warm world at the best of times, and at its equator, it was rare for temperatures to get below 35 degrees. So it amused Buck, explorer, mercenary, and whatever term he preferred to use, to see the Cassians all dressed up in their black military uniforms. Sweating like pigs, and with their flushed, oh-so-perfect skin, looking like pigs as well.

"So come on," the head stooge said, keeping his grip on his laser rifle. "Make this easy on yourself, and everyone around you."

From his table, back against the wall, Buck glanced around the cantina. Half of the patrons were keeping their heads down. The other half were keeping their heads down while glancing out of the corner of their eyes, as if to say "go for it."

"Come with you," Buck murmured, returning his gaze to the soldier in front of him. "Just like that? You're kidding, right?"

"Does it look like I'm kidding?"

"No, it looks like you're ugly."

The Cassian opened his mouth. What he would have said, Buck never found out. Because it was at this point that he drew out his pistol and shot the man in the chest, killing him.

"Oops."

Some people screamed. Some people gasped. The four other soldiers raised their weapons. Kicking his table across the floor, Buck downed two of them.

"Fire! Fire!"

To their credit, the two Cassians still on their feet did just that. What they couldn't be given credit for was actually hitting their target. Not as Buck ran to the side avoiding their initial bout of fire while returning his own. One soldier was hit. As he fell, as his rifle kept firing, his comrade fell down as well, spasaming from the laser fire at point blank range.

"Ooh, nasty."

The other Cassians had started getting up by this point. Seeing Buck, they opened fire.

They missed.

What had happened was that their foe had utilized spellsinging, opening a short-range wormhole to get behind them. So he appeared behind one. The one who was promptly knocked out with a blow to the head. The other turned round to fire.

"You suck, you know that?"

In a few seconds, the Cassian was disarmed. The next, he was on the ground. And the second after that, the soldier had two mag pistols pointed at his face and a laser rifle that was out of his reach.

"Now, you see, this is where I can do a few things," Buck smirked. "The first is killed you."

The Cassian's flushed skin went pale.

"Or, I can tell you to crawl back to whatever invertebrate you serve and tell you to tell them to back off."

The Cassian seemed to like that idea.

"But then you might send more after me, so I'll just knock you out and get off-planet. Capiche?"

"Ca…what?"

Buck hit the soldier with the butts of his pistols, knocking him out.

"Glad we agree."

Buck looked around the cantina. The cantina looked back at him. Every face, every slab of stone, even the newscaster on the flickering flatscreen seemed to be looking in his direction.

"Sorry about that," the mercenary said, walking up to the bar. "How much do I owe you?"

"You…you…"

"This should cover it."

Pulling out a sack of coins, Buck tossed it over to its intended recipient. Upon opening it, the bartender's eyes, once filled with dread, now filled up with wonder.

"This is…is…"

"Glad you like it. See ya."

With that, the bounty hunter started walking out.

He exited only after picking up his sarsaparilla.

* * *

"_What_, just happened?!"

"Well, Sir, as I explained-"

"It was a rhetorical question!"

Sweat trickled down the soldier's brow, and Octavius doubted it was due to the heat. His office was climate controlled. The building they were in was air conditioned. The only reason Private Trajan would be sweating would be due to fear. Fear that he had good reason to feel, Octavius thought.

"Five soldiers," the commander mused, leaning forward on his desk. "Three of them dead, including Lieutenant Actium."

"Sir, I-"

"You made me look like a fool," the commander continued. "You failed. The people _saw _you fail. It's a failure that ultimately comes back to me."

"Sir, you weren't there, he-"

"I don't have to be there!" Octavius yelled, leaning over and grabbing the private by his collar. "Do you understand that?"

Trajan nodded as best he could.

"Good," Octavius said, releasing his grip. "Now get out of my sight."

The commander rested his face in his hands. He didn't look up to see if Trajan saluted, or how fast he walked. Slowly, he unbuttoned his collar with one hand while placing a finger on an intercom with the other.

"Send Master Sergeant Augustus in."

The hand left the intercom, as did the one around his collar. Both hands returned to the sides of his chair, which Octavius spun around to face the window.

_There's a storm coming._

Dark clouds were on the horizon. Storms were common in this part of the world. Yet Cawley remained arid. Numerous scientists had theorized how and why there wasn't more flora and fauna on the planet, one that was perfectly suited for carbon-based life, but Octavius didn't particularly care. He was a Cassian. The pinnacle of intelligent life, carbon-based or otherwise. A member of the Dominion, the largest galactic empire the galaxy had ever seen, extending from Cassus itself to out here on the Fringe. And more wretched carbon-based life, life that still called itself "human" instead of adopting the "Cassian" moniker was making his life miserable. As they had been doing for decades.

"Master Sergeant Augustus, Sir."

Octavius remained in his chair. His office was on the second floor of the building. He couldn't see the plebes rolling around in the dust. It was a perk he was grateful for.

"Sir?"

"Take a seat, Sergeant."

Octavius remained facing the window, though he could hear his subordinate take the seat opposite his desk.

_I hate it here. _

He turned around. Seeing Augustus's scarred face was more pleasant than the blue skies and dark clouds of Cawly.

"Sir," Augustus said, lowering his head slightly, showing the stiches that criss-crossed his brow.

Augustus looked a lot like him, Octavius reflected. Darker hair, more scars, an ocular implant for his left eye, but otherwise, they were kindred spirits. Or at least, that was his own view. Men like Augustus never gave out any opinions of their own.

"You know what happened earlier today," the commander said, pressing another button on his desk to reveal a bottle of tetrarch and two glasses. "And you know that it's reached the stage where it's become intolerable."

Augustus remained silent. He took the glass Octavius offered him, but otherwise made no comment.

"I need it stopped. This "Buck" is just a gunrunner, a rebel, a plebe. I wouldn't mind that too much if he didn't go around showing that to every other _human _on this ball of dirt."

"His actions show confidence," the sergeant said. "Would you call it overconfidence?"

"I call it an embarrassment." Octavius sipped the tetrarch, letting its sweet taste mix with his bitterness to produce a new flavour. "But if I had to answer you, no, it isn't overconfidence. Because so far we've done nothing to make it _seem _like he's overconfident. If a man can take out five of our soldiers in less than a minute, then he has every right to be confident."

"And you? Where is your confidence?"

Octavius took another sip. Augustus didn't give opinions. He gave statements and questions. He wished he could give answers as well, but as Octavius supposed, he was the commander of the garrison. The only people he answered to were light years away.

Taking a last sip of the tetrarch, Octavius stood up and looked back out the window. The storm clouds were getting closer. Otherwise, the township of Catbird looked the same. Children scuffled in the dirt. A trio of soldiers walked down the street. All safe. All normal. On the surface at least.

"This is the third run-in our criminal's had with us," Octavius said eventually. "He's been here that long."

"Doing what?" Augustus asked.

"Smuggling, gunrunning…trading, really. And…" The commander trailed off. He raised a hand, rubbing his finger and thumb together as his starship of thought went into hypderdrive. "Money. That's what it all comes down to. Money."

Octavius turned back to Augustus.

"Cold cash, like what he paid the barkeep with," the commander said. We can't trace that. But electronic transactions…yes." He sat back down. "Maybe he _is _overconfident. We single out any electronic transactions made from this dirthole, we may have our man."

"And how many is that?" the sergeant asked.

"Not many, given the tech level of this world's citizens." He leant forward. "Our man's a smuggler. He can cover his tracks, we'd have a hard time tracing any accounts of his. But if we trace the site of such transactions…we may have our man."

Augustus nodded. He stood up.

"I'll alert our analysts," he said. "I'll be ready to move as soon as we detect anything out of the ordinary."

Octavius watched him salute. He watched him walk out. When he closed the door, he poured himself another glass of tetrarch. He swilled the golden liquid around before swallowing it.

It didn't taste so bitter this time.

* * *

_A/N_

_So, this is a story based on the upcoming MMORPG titled_ WildStar_. While I don't gravitate towards MMOs in terms of gameplay, that aside, I've certainly liked what I've seen. Every so often, it's nice to have something that doesn't take itself too seriously, and with great humour and colourful characters, certainly _WildStar _has that in spades. Anyway, inspired a multi-chaptered story._


	2. Family Matters

**WildStar: Storm**

**Chapter 2: Family Matters**

"Tuck your shirt in scruffy!"

Buck kept staring at the mirror. Under normal circumstances he'd be examining his usual devilish good looks – short brown hair, brown overcoat, brown eyes, a necklace made out of draken teeth, his lucky goggles…but no. This was different. Instead of seeing those normal good looks in peace and quiet, he was being faced by a mirror who was talking to him.

"Comb your hair!" it barked. "Brush your teeth!"

"Yeah, sure," Buck murmured, tucking in his shirt. "Whatever you say grandma."

"Oh, you look adorable," the mirror said. "Now it's time to go to school. You…error. Error."

_Figures._

"Tuck your shirt in teeth!"

Buck smirked. He untucked his shirt. Screwing around with Cassians was fun, but this mirror might have just been the greatest invention in the history of the galaxy. But he wasn't going to tell his friend that. No praise unless he got some first.

"Hey, Dodgers? I think there's something wrong with your mirror."

"Kick it!" called out a voice.

"'kay."

A sound of falling machinery echoed throughout the workshop. Buck turned away from the mirror and watched as his friend fell down from the upper landing, various machine parts falling down with him.

"Tidy up!" the mirror yelled.

Dodgers looked up, his eyes filled with worry.

"Don't worry I didn't kick it," Buck said, extending an arm to his friend. "Yet."

"You're late for school."

The mechanic pulled a remote out of his pocket and pointed it at the mirror. It started whistling about dreams and feeling fine before shutting down.

"Nice," said Buck. "I'm sure it'll be the next best thing on the market."

"Oh, it's not for the market," Dodgers said. "But you'd know all about that wouldn't you?"

Buck smirked. Patting his friend on the shoulder, the two walked across the workshop.

Dodgers hadn't changed much over the half-decade since Buck had seen him. His hair was thinner, his waist was larger, his overalls were dirtier, but otherwise, he was the same mechanic Buck had known since they met a decade ago, servicing Buck's ship on Dicoletian. In those past ten years, Dodgers had moved to Cawly to build stuff, destroy stuff, and make a living out of doing both, while Buck had done what he'd been doing for as long as he could remember. Run, fight, and get paid to do both.

"Y'know, just so we're on the same level, I suppose I gotta ask," Dodgers said, approaching a work bench. "I heard there was a bit of trouble at Happy Reddy'stoday. You wouldn't have anything to do with that would you?"

"Me? Nah. Course not," Buck said, fiddling with his pistols.

"Really? Cause word is the Cassians are out for blood." He glanced back at Buck. "Kind of as if that person was with the Exiles."

Buck looked up at his friend. "Something you want to say?"

"No. Just wondering why you're out here, is all."

"I do what I do," Buck said, returning his gaze to his pistols. "If that involves giving some Cassies a bloody nose, then I'm happy to do it."

"Huh. Right."

Buck frowned, holstering his weapons. He knew all this was small talk. Dodgers had the goods, he had the credits, they just had to play the game. Perhaps he'd gone a bit overboard this time – it wasn't the first time he'd embarrassed the Cassians, only he'd never done it so openly before.

"So what's up, Buckie?" Dodgers said, turning around and wiping his fingers with a rag that looked like it was older than the person using it. "Just split hairs with me."

"Look, is the deal still on or not?" Buck asked. "If you don't want it I'll-"

"Oh, I'll give you weapons. But all that firepower Buckie, seriously? If I didn't know better I'd say you'd got yourself involved in something bigger than both of us."

"Well, not bigger than you," Buck smirked, gesturing towards the mechanic's waistline.

Dodgers didn't smile back.

"Anyway, you want the dough or not?" Buck said, drawing out a flash-card from his pocket. "I want coins, Buckie."

"Card or nothing," Buck said. He played with it between his fingers. "Don't worry Doddy, the account's a thousand light years away."

Dodgers stared at him.

"Fine, more like a hundred. But come on Dodgers, you can trust me. It's untraceable. You'll be helping a good cause."

"Sounds like that kind of cause is at odds with the Dominion," Dodgers said. "Coins, or nothing."

"Card or nothing Dodgers," Buck retorted. "And don't beat around the bush. We've set this up for weeks. I pay you, you tell me where the weapons cache is, I take off. You're in a far better position to screw me over at the end of the day."

Dodgers sighed and looked down at the floor.

_Oh come on!_

Something had changed over the last ten years, Buck reflected. His friend was different. Not just larger, not just older, but he'd gone…soft. Granted, he was never much of a fighter. All the guns mounted on the walls behind him were antique slugthrowers, trophies rather than actual weapons. Back in the old days he'd fixed up his ship and thrown in some proton torpedoes that Buck had used to literally blast his way out of the hanger when he'd escaped the Dominion forces that had come after him. Now, he was making talking mirrors.

"Fine," Dodgers said. He stuck out a meaty hand. "You were a dishonest slike back in the old days, I suppose you can't have got much worse."

"Oh, you have no idea," Buck smirked. He handed out the card. "But I'm glad we can still act like civilized gentlemen and-"

The card flew out of his hand up to the landing above.

"Fucknugget!"

All thoughts of being civilized aside, Buck drew out his pistols. He looked up.

"Buck Hieronomous Smith?" asked a voice. "Man, your parents must have hated you."

Buck smarted. At least one of his parents _did_ hate him, because his real name was even worse. But all thoughts of parents were cast aside when he saw the child holding his flash card with one card while putting down a gravity gun with another.

"So, who's the newbie dad?" the girl asked.

And all thoughts of parents returned.

"Dad?" Buck exclaimed, turning to Dodgers. "_Dad_?"

"Um…" Dodgers found the ceiling interesting instead of the ground. "Well, thing is-"

"Cause he's ma dad!" the girl exclaimed, jumping down from the landing and running over to hug Dodgers. "Best dad on the Fringe ya know? Ah, he dresses dirty but he's a big ol softie. Teaches me the trade, tells me stories, does all those daddy things, plays catch, watches TV with me, does the laundry, helps with homework-"

Buck kept staring at the girl. She was dressed like Dodgers, but that was where the similarities ended. He was round, she was thin. He was getting older, she was in her early teens, bereft of any physical features that made females worth looking at. His hair was short, her light brown hair was done up in a pair of pigtails.

"And the mirror! Ah, the mirror! You seen the mirror? You see yourself in it? Man, it's awesome dontcha think? Man, that mirror!"

And unlike Dodgers, she would _not shut up_.

"And the mirror!"

Buck swiped his card back. He glared at Dodgers. He looked sheepishly back at him.

"Hey, nice swipe mister! Can ya teach me? Huh huh huh huh-"

Buck grabbed the kid's nose. He held it tight.

"Answers," Buck said. "Now."

"Aw, come on Buckie," Dodgers said, freeing the girl from the mercenary's grip. "Does it really matter if-"

"Course it matters!" the girl said, yanking her nose free. "Tell him dad! Tell him tell him! Or can I tell him? Can I? Can I? If-"

Buck grabbed her nose again. Even harder than before.

"Fine, fine," Dodgers said. "It's…well, embarrassing really."

"You fucked someone didn't you?"

"No!" Dodgers exclaimed. "It…well, Francis didn't have folks, so…settled down. Wanted some company. Took her in."

Buck stared at him. "That _is _embarrassing."

The girl, or "Francis," as her name apparently was, yanked herself away from Buck's grip.

"Wontcha du dat fer?" she asked, rubbing her nose.

"To preserve my sanity kiddo," Buck answered. He kept his gaze focussed on Dodgers however. "Eldrans' breath, you're really into the whole adoption business?"

"I tel u dat I wont adaptud! I wus-"

"Card," Buck said. "Payment. Cache. Now."

Dodgers smiled. He took it and returned to his work bench, taking out a scanner. In a matter of seconds, the transaction was done. In a few more seconds, the signal would be sent to one of Cawly's orbital satellites. And in a few minutes, the funds would be transferred from an Exile account into Dodgers's. Completely untraceable.

"Hey!" Francis yelled, kicking Buck in the leg but failing to cause any pain. "I'm talken to ur u bug pazie!"

Buck ignored her. He just took the card back, along with a paper map that Dodgers handed to him.

"X marks the spot," Dodgers said. He ran a finger down one of the edges of the map, prompting numerous markings to appear. "But it'll guide you there no sweat."

Buck sighed. It was a 6km hike. Nothing he couldn't handle, but it was time that he didn't want to waste. 6km there, 6km back. And with the storm coming, he might be caught out in the rain.

"Was it really necessary to go that far out?" Buck asked. "I mean, you've got guns here. It's not as if you're hiding anything."

"Slugthrowers are one thing, laser guns are another," Dodgers aid. "Course I can throw in a slugthrower if you want."

"I'll pass," Buck said, still ignoring Francis's kicks. "Anyway, I'm off. See you around. Maybe."

"Hey you get back here you overgrown drongo!"

Buck ignored her. The girl would have been annoying enough if not for the fact that her mere existence felt like a betrayal of trust. He knew Dodgers. Or _had _known. But…it was as if he'd got married and forgot to even mention it. The thought was irrational, but still…

"Heh, go on Francis, ask him."

_The hell?_

Buck turned around to see the girl run up to him.

"Can I come? Huh? Huh? Can I? Can I?"

"No."

"Aw please?"

Buck glared at Dodgers. He shrugged, and returned to his workbench.

"Can I? Can I?"

_Trust me with your daughter huh? Well, I guess the weapons are really out there, you overweight-_

"Huh? Huh?"

"Kid, listen to me," Buck said, kneeling down. "I like you. Really."

"Really?"

"Really," Buck lied. "But it'll be dangerous. Dominion stooges at every turn. Dust storms. A thunderstorm. Rain, lightning, and even if we bypass that, it's a ten kilometre slog that'll take hours. Basically, hard stuff. Capiche?"

Francis stared. And stared. And stared. She stared right until her stare grew wider and she clasped her hands in giddiness.

"Awesome!"

Buck put a hand to his face.

It was going to be a long day.

And the rumble of thunder agreed.

* * *

"What have you got?"

In a way, Octavius already knew. He'd entrusted Augustus with a task, and he knew he could count on the NCO to not summon him until he'd made headway in it. But as he entered the ops room, he still asked. It was a way of announcing his presence to the techies who stood at their desks. A way of acknowledging to the master sergeant that he'd received his message in his office and would come down at once. And most importantly, it was a way of him asserting his authority over those under his command. Those who might have forgotten that the chains of command existed.

"Flash card usage," Augustus said. "Portia?"

Portia, the woman who stood at the console before the two elder men, nodded and typed on her terminal. Its screen displayed a layout of the town, with a relatively large structure on its western periphery being highlighted, far away from the approaching storm front from the east.

"We traced the transaction," Augustus continued. "Dead end?"

"What do you mean, _dead end_?"

"I mean that we couldn't trace it. Once its signal reached the comm. buoy, it sent numerous signals off to different star systems. And even if we find the real destination, it'll be an off-planet account."

Octavius rubbed his fingers together. If he were serving in a real position, such as in the Dominion Navy, the ship would have probably been on its way to one of those planets by now.

"Commander?" Portia asked.

But he was here, on Cawly, Octavius reminded himself. And what he also reminded himself of was that tracing the transaction wasn't his original goal. Just detecting it was. And looking at the structure that was highlighted on the map (a warehouse from the looks of things), it looked like such a detection had been pulled off.

"Alright," Octavius said eventually. He looked up from the map, meeting the master sergeant's gaze. "We'll move in."

Augustus nodded. He started walking off.

"I'll meet you in the armoury."

The NCO stopped, and glanced back at his commander. It only lasted for a second though. He nodded again, and continued walking.

Unquestioning obedience. It was what this world's citizens had to learn. And as he left the ops room in turn, as thunder rumbled from outside, Octavius reflected that the best way to demonstrate that was to go into the field himself.

And as sweet as tetrarch was, vengeance was sweeter.


	3. The Wild West

**WildStar: Storm**

**Chapter 3: The Wild West**

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we-"

"No!"

A flock of kettlers squawked and flew off the jub-jub they were perched on, and Buck couldn't blame them. Jub-jubs were prickly plants, and even kettlers had enough sense to know when to get out of the way. Because one way or another, they were in the line of fire, whether it be Francis's constant questioning, or the lasers he might start shooting from his pistols if those questions continued.

"Look," Buck said, kneeling down and putting his hands on the girl's shoulders, grasping them as tightly as possible. "We're not there yet. We weren't there when you asked me five minutes ago, we weren't there when you asked me five seconds ago, and five seconds from now, when you ask me if we're there yet, my answer's still going to be…"

"Yes?"

"No!"

Buck sent the girl stumbling down into the dust of the Westerland before throwing up his hands in frustration. Already the kettlers were flying around in a circle above.

"Dangnammit, that be no way to treat a lady!" Francis exclaimed, getting to her feet. "If told ma dad-"

"He's not your dad, you're not a lady, and as long as you stay out here I'm free to treat you however I want," Buck said. "_Kid_."

"My name's Francis."

"And I don't care."

Buck kept walking. He could hear Francis trudging behind him, he could see the kettlers flying overhead and far to the east, he could hear the rumble of thunder. Glancing around, he saw that storm clouds filled the eastern horizon, standing in contrast to the setting sun of the west. For all its dreariness, Cawly at least complied to a standard easterly rotation.

"Say Buck?"

The gunrunner put a hand to his pistol.

"I was wondering…"

_Dodgers, I'm sorry, but I can't be held accountable for my actions…_

"What the whole schmozzle is with you and the Dominion?"

The hand went off the pistol.

"Ah mean, ma dad got guns and stuff in his ere warehouse," the girl continued. "What ya need lasers for huh?"

"To shoot people."

"Yeah, but good 'ol slugs do that too don't'cha know?"

Buck smirked. He did know. He'd used slugthrowers, he'd seen slugthrowers be used and sometimes, he'd even smuggled slugthrowers.

"So, come on, what's so special 'bout lasers, huh?"

Buck whirled out a pistol. He didn't know if it was appropriate to be doing such a thing in front of a kid, but this was the Fringe. A part of the galaxy where it wasn't a dog eat dog world, but rather a "monster will eat you if you don't shoot first" world.

"This," said Buck, "is a laser gun. One of my friends."

"I thought Dodgers was ya friend."

"Course he is, cause he supplies me with more friends." Buck twirled the gun around. "But some friends are better than others. Some friends," he said, pointing to another jub-jub plant, "are only capable of filling people with holes."

"Um…"

Buck fired. The plant exploded. The kettlers screeched and flew off.

"And some friends," the smuggler said, turning back to face the girl and holstering his pistol, "leave holes in the fabric of reality."

Francis stared at Buck. Then she stared at where the jub-jub was. Then she stared at a kettler who had flown down to survey the site where it had once been.

"That. Was. **Awesome!**"

Buck stared in turn. He then shrugged and kept walking.

"So, 'bout the Dominion then," Francis said, walking after him. "What they about, huh? Huh?"

Buck remained silent.

"Huh? What 'bout them?"

"They're…bad people."

"How? Come on, how?"

Buck kept walking, unsure as to how to go on. He had no love for the Dominion. But if the Dominion was going to be fought, it was clear that Dodgers was past the stage where he could fight the fight himself. And the question was, would he want his 'daughter' doing such a thing?

"How?"

"Look, they're jackasses, okay?" Buck snapped. "They take what they want. They drive races off their homeworlds, they set up shop, they claim the galaxy belongs to them, and anyone who disagrees finds themselves with a gun in their face. If they're lucky, the Dominion only threatens to pull the trigger."

"But you're helping fight them, right?"

"I help the people who are fighting them, yeah," Buck answered. "Group of rebels, call themselves Exiles. Planet called Nexus. Surveyed it a few years back, now it's a battlefield for poor sods who want their independence."

"And you? You going back there?" Francis asked, skipping ahead of him. "You gonna fight them too?"

Buck shrugged.

"Huh?"

"Here," Buck said, handing the girl the map. "Tell me how close we are to the X."

Francis took it and began reading. It gave Buck time to collect his thoughts, the rumble of thunder and squawks of the kettlers notwithstanding. He fingered his pistols again.

_Wonder if there's a better brand of gun in the cache. Maybe I can trade you out._

It was idle thought. But it was keeping Buck's mind off the subject that he'd almost broached on with-

"I say we're about seven kilometres from the X!"

"Keep trying kid, the hike's meant to be ten klicks there and back."

Francis. The kid just wouldn't shut up. And Buck was beginning to see why. Cawly was a dirthole, but that was to its advantage. The Dominion wasn't bothering it, Francis wasn't bothered by the Dominion and, come to think of it, if he hadn't been in that bar earlier today, there wouldn't have been a firefight in the first place luckily.

"Ah, sorry, I mean…seven-hundred metres."

Buck took the map back. Francis seemed happy. Dodgers seemed happy. His own bouts of happiness had come and gone. Half his life in drifter fleets fleeing from Dominion control, climaxing with the Nexus survey, and the realization that the Dominion wouldn't let any planet go, whether it be a hub of eldran technology or a place like Cawly.

"Hey Buckie? You alright?"

So he'd got out while he could. The Exiles could fight, the Exiles could die. He could run guns as long as there was a war to profit from.

"Buck?"

Francis looked up at him. He looked down at her.

"You okay?"

He glanced away. He looked up at the kettlers, now back to flying over him. He'd heard people compare them to the vultures of Cassus, how they picked on wounded prey, reaping the benefits of killing done by other animals.

"Say, Francis?" Buck asked, looking back at her. "I was wondering, I mean, if it's not too bad…"

"Yeah?"

"How'd Dodgers adopt you?"

Francis shrugged. "Not much to tell. 'Rents were immigrants here. Ship came apart during re-entry. Crashed. Burned. Dodgers was among the people that helped put out the fires, get the people out." Now it was the girl's turn to look away. "Some weren't as lucky."

Buck opened his mouth then closed it. He didn't need to ask how they'd died. Fire, decompression, the impact…dead was dead.

"But hey, that was eight years ago," Francis said, looking back up at the gunrunner. "All in the past, eh?"

"Yeah. In the past."

Past was indeed past, Buck reminded himself. Dodgers's time as a gunrunner was past. His time with the Exiles was past. The time to keep trudging west was past. Because looking at the map, the gunrunner saw that the X was blinking. He pressed it, and out of the dirt, a crate burst to the surface.

"Holy!"

Buck smirked. There was nothing "holy" about it. "Kickass," "awesome," or a similar word would cover it though. Though after running over to the crate and opening it, Buck realized that neither of those words would do it justice.

"Aw, Dodgers," he whispered. "I knew you still cared."

Laser guns, plasma guns, even a singularity launcher, capable of creating miniaturized black holes. Francis ran over as well. She stared at the treasure trove.

"Wow," she whispered. She reached for one of the guns. Buck closed the chest.

"Hey!"

"Show and tell kid," Buck said. "My toys, my story."

"Story huh?" the girl exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips. "So how do we get this back, huh?"

Buck ignored the use of the term "we" and instead put a hand into one of his trench coat's pockets. Out came a circular device that he attached to the chest.

"Homing beacon," he explained to Francis. "Dodgers may have used ground transport to get this stuff out here, but this little baby will teleport the goods inside my ship."

"And where is your ship?"

"Out east under a dampening field. Thugs haven't spotted it yet, and less than a day from now, they won't have a further chance to."

With a flash of blue light, the chest disappeared. A kettler flew down, inspecting the site that it had once been on before looking up at the humans in amusement.

"Um, couldn't we have, er, caught a ride too?" Francis asked.

"You could, if you're willing to be reduced to your constituent atoms."

"Sounds awesome!"

"Sure is. Provided being torn apart on the molecular level doesn't faze you."

Francis stared. Buck decided to let her spare the gory details. He'd seen tapes of old teleportation experiments, and while teleportation technology was sophisticated enough to re-assemble matter flawlessly, no living thing was capable of surviving the process.

"But aren't you a spellslinger?" Francis asked. "Can't you teleport at will?"

"No, I can create wormholes at will that act as teleportation," Buck said, remembering his use of the ability back in Catbird. "Completely different."

"Oh."

Francis clearly didn't get it. Part of Buck wanted to leave it there. Still, the gloves were off. Literally in the case of his right hand as he showed Francis the glowing blue symbol on the dorsal side.

"Cor," Francis said. "Wouldya look at that."

"I've seen it all my life kid, I don't need to."

"So, the hand thing lets ya do stuff?"

"No, it lets people _know _that I can do stuff."

"Like?"

"Like creating short-range wormholes. And being a badass."

It was a bit more complicated than that, but not even spellslingers themselves knew the hows and whys of their abilities. Espers utilized psionics, operating from their minds. Spellslingers utilized an external source of power, theories ranging from dark energy to plain and simple magic as to what that power actually was. Apparently the same source of power that all spellslingers used, regardless of species. Either way, Buck didn't particularly care. He could use magic. He could do cool stuff. By doing that stuff, he was still alive. And still out here in the Westerland, five kilometres from his ship.

"So what now?" Francis asked, as if reading his mind.

"We walk."

"Aw, that sucks."

"You came out here kid, you knew the hike you'd be in for," Buck snapped. He started walking.

"But I'm hungryyyyy!"

Buck stopped short. He reached for his belt. His hand touched a pistol. The same hand then entered a pocket and he drew out a pair of protein bars.

"Fine," he said. He tossed one to Francis and sat down. "Ten minute break."

"A protein bar?" Francis asked. "These things taste like-"

"Either that, or I try and cook a kettler," Buck said. "Take it or leave it."

Francis pursed her lips. She took a bite. Her face briefly resembled a granok's as she took a bite.

"Say Buck?" Francis asked. "I was wondering…"

"Hmm?"

"Buck Hieronymus Smith," the girl asked. "I mean, is that really your name?"

"No. It's…" Buck took a bite of his protein bar before giving up and throwing the rest of it to a nearby kettler. "It's…"

Francis stared at him like a puppy.

"It's Buck Waldo Zachariah Wentworth."

Francis snorted. Buck glared at her.

"See why my card's different? Buck's the only decent name I got."

"It's okay," Francis said, stifling her laughter as she reached over patted Buck on the hand. "My full name's Kit Francis Brinny."

"That isn't too bad."

"It is if every kid calls you Kitty."

Buck stared. The kettler stared. Francis stared.

Then Francis began laughing. And the gunrunner couldn't help it.

He began laughing too.

* * *

"Tuck your shirt in scruffy!"

Octavius glanced at the mirror in surprise. His shirt was tucked in already, as securely under his belt as phase armour was wrapped around his body. Just like Augustus and the three other soldiers behind him, all of them filing into the warehouse. Or an armoury, Octavius reflected, given all the weapons that were on display. Antique weapons, but still potentially deadly, and the type of weapons the Exiles would want. Easy to smuggle, easy to maintain, still potentially lethal…

"Can I help yer fellas?"

And the type of weapons that were used by louts who used such uncouth terms.

Octavius watched the man walk over to him, making his dirty hands even dirtier from the cloth he rubbed over them.

"Dominion eh?" the man said, still walking, his waistline moving in sync with his footfalls. "Didn't think yer'd show round 'ere."

"I go where the work takes me," the commander smiled. He stepped forward, holding out a hand and glad he was wearing gloves. "Commander Octavius Odoacer, command of the Dominion garrison in Catbird."

"Well, name's Dodgers," the man said, extending out his own hand. "And if you don't mind me saying so, you-"

He stopped talking and screamed as Octavius took his hand, twisted his arm, and slammed his face against a workbench.

"You filthy plebe," the commander hissed. "You really think _words _are going to get you out of this?"

"I…I don't know what you're talking-"

Octavius slammed his face against the bench again. And a third time for good measure.

"Comb your hair!" the mirror yelled.

Octavius blasted it with his pistol. He then holstered it and gave the human a breather, turning him around so that his face met his.

"You really thought you could get away with this didn't you?" Octavius whispered.

"Wh…what?"

"This!" He waved a hand around the warehouse. "Guns! Unregulated, unlicensed, out here in the open for anyone to find. People like you are the reason people like me are stuck on this backwater, primitive rocks! Because someone's always got to sit on them hard enough so that the snakes don't crawl out."

"Well if you want snakes you-"

Octavius hit him again. A tooth went flying out onto the floor.

The commander glanced back at his men. Augustus and most of the Cassians stood there impassively, while a select spineless few tried to avoid his gaze.

"Secure the exterior," Octavius said to the group. "Augustus, with me."

The soldiers filed out. Augustus remained where he was. In peace, and without the prying eyes of plebes, Octavius returned his gaze to the waste of flesh and bone before him.

"Now then," the commander continued. "Now that we've got the formalities out of the way, I'm going to make you a deal. You tell me what I want to know, and I let you keep your life. I may even let you keep your home and business. Does that seem fair?"

The man nodded…maybe. Given how his head flopped back and forth the way he did he couldn't be sure.

"Is that _fair_?"

"You don't…got nothin'…on me…"

"Pad."

Octavius stretched out a hand. Augustus placed a holo-pad in it. With the press of a button, a stream of data started glowing over the men in a green light.

"Your name is Dodgers," Octavius said. "False name to be sure, but I don't care. Nothing official either, nothing I could have booked you over until I found this warehouse of firearms."

"They're not…firearms…antiques…"

"And you're not an effective liar. Though…" Octavius smirked. "You are, interestingly enough, listed as a guardian. Not a legal one of course, but hey, I suppose girls like Kit Brinny need all the parental support they can get."

Dodgers's eyes widened.

"So, here's the specifics of the deal," Octavius said. "You tell me where the person who made that transaction with you is, and I let you keep your shack. Tell me quickly, and I don't send your daughter into custody."

The commander stepped back and let the plebe go, sneering as he watched his bulk flop back against the work bench.

_Disgusting._

"Please don't drag this out," Octavius said. "I know you're working with a gunrunner, that he paid you, and did so electronically. You want to work with rebels and thieves, that's your business. I don't really care."

The human spat out a globule of blood.

"But what I _do _care about is finding the man you're working with. So tell me where he is, and I'll leave you. Draw it out, and you join him in his grave."

"Buck…" the man wheezed, gathering his breath. "Will…"

"I know his name's Buck, I don't care about his name!" Octavius grabbed him by his collar, but otherwise didn't lie a hand on him. "I'll make it simple for you Mister Dodgers. Tell me where Buck is, or I'll be telling you where your daughter is six months from now. When she's a thousand light years from here."

The man remained silent.

"Last chance Dodgers. Your friend, or-"

"Alright!"

Dodgers got his neck free. Octavius stood there.

"The Westerland," the human rasped. "He's gone out there to get a weapons cache."

"And then?"

"Then he'll return here. My…my daughter's with him."

"Transport?"

"By foot. To there and back."

Thunder rolled from the east, as if to ask why two people would do such a thing. Octavius didn't mind though. A storm was coming, but he'd known that all day.

"These weapons…" Octavius began. "What's their tech level?"

The man remained silent.

"Tech, Mister Dodgers."

"Advanced. Up to scratch. Top credit material."

"I see," the commander mused. He walked over to one of the walls, where a slug-rifle was mounted. He took it off. "Far beyond this level then?"

"Yeah…"

"Huh." Octavius fingered the weapon. "But this slug weaponry, it's still got a punch, right? Enough to take out a sapient being? Like myself? Phase armour is great for energy weapons, but not much good against physical bullets."

Dodgers shrugged.

"Or enough to take out people without any armour." He pointed the rifle at the gun launderer. "People like you."

Dodgers started backing away. He opened his mouth and closed it. Then again. No words came out.

"Or maybe I'm wrong," Octavius said. "Maybe this _is _just an antique, and not a piece of technology that's still potentially lethal. Well, there's only one way to find out."

"No!"

Dodgers screamed. Augustus stood by. Octavius pulled the trigger, and only got a clicking sound for his efforts. A sound that was soon replaced by his own chuckling. Chuckling that Dodgers tried to emulate.

"You're an intelligent man," Octavius said, handing the rifle back to the human. "Not keeping weapons on display loaded. Very smart."

Dodgers grinned. He only stopped when Octavius drew out his own pistol and shot him through the forehead.

"Fortunately, my gun _is _loaded."

Octavius watched as the man fell to the ground, an outstretched arm taking numerous tools off the bench down onto his body. There wasn't much blood – energy weapons cauterized wounds. But anyone who saw the launderer's body would have no question as to what had happened. And hopefully why.

"Sir?" Augustus asked. "Was that necessary?"

Octavius frowned – Augustus had never given an opinion before. But then again, those words were a question. And he owned the NCO an answer he supposed.

"The man wouldn't lie," Octavius said. "So he's useless to me now at best. At worst, he'd continue supplying weapons, aiding in the deaths of more Dominion soldiers and citizens."

"But he could be questioned."

"Sometimes, examples are worth more."

Augustus just stood there. Octavius couldn't tell if he was disturbed or not. And right now, as he analysed the situation, he supposed it was a moot point.

"Our Buck will return here," the commander said. "If Dodgers trusted his daughter to go out with him, then he trusted the bastard to bring her back."

"Couldn't we just head out into the Westerland?" Augustus asked.

"We could," Octavius murmured. "But as easy as it might be to spot him, he could spot us just as easily, not to mention that we don't know exactly where he went." He paused for breath, gathering his thoughts. "So we'll wait. We'll ambush him when he returns. And then we'll see if he's worth keeping him alive or not."

"And the girl?"

Octavius shrugged. "We'll see. But I don't see any reason to harm her. In fact, we'll be doing her a favour."

Augustus just stood there.

"Don't worry, she'll be fine," Octavius said, patting his subordinate on the shoulder. "After all, I'm not a monster."


	4. Thunder and Lightning

**WildStar: Storm**

**Chapter 4: Thunder and Lightning**

"Here it comes."

Out of the corner of his eye, Buck saw Francis follow his lead and look up to the sky, currently in the midst of rumbling, having a disco with lightning, and spilling its beer. Or crying. Or whatever metaphor one wanted to use to describe the rain that began to beat down on them and everywhere else in Catbird.

"When it rains, it pours," Buck murmured.

"What?" Francis asked.

"Nevermind." He took her hand. "Just move it."

As downpours went, it wasn't that bad, the gunrunner reflected. After the razor hail he'd experienced on Madoff VIII, any other form of precipitation felt no worse than a shower. But it was still wet, it was still cold, and if Dodgers was truly into the whole fathering business, chances were he wouldn't want his daughter catching a cold.

_Perfectly willing to send her out with me though, _Buck reflected, helping Francis get up from the ground after a brief stumble. _Expecting me to show her the ropes?_

He didn't know. He didn't particularly care either. But while it was something he'd only admit to himself, the trip hadn't been that bad. Or at least not the trip back, where the kid's questions were blissfully not "are we there yet?"

"We're nearly there!"

Indeed, Francis had done a 180. Or maybe every kid screamed "we're nearly there" after coming within sight of their house. Buck didn't know. Growing up on a drifter ship, there'd never been any rain for him to run out from.

"And made it!" Francis exclaimed, leaning against the wall of the warehouse beside the door, underneath the awning of the level above. She rose the middle finger of both hands and flipped them towards the sky. "Suck it Metar!"

"Who?" Buck asked.

"Old rain god, old settlers' story," Francis answered, getting the rain out of her hair.

"And you believe it?"

"Dunno. But like I said, if he exists, he failed!"

"Uh-uh. Of course."

Buck stood there as Francis got the last of the water out of her hair. He wasn't sure if "Metar" or the weather cycle had failed per se, given how much water was coming out of said hair, but one had to take what victories they could get. He-

"So, you coming in?"

"What?"

"You know, coming in," Francis said. "Biscuits, um…guess you don't like lemonade…dad drinks this weird smelling stuff, says I can't have it, but I'll show him! Hey, you could make him show me! He'll listen to you! He-

Buck let Francis ramble on. Usually "are you coming in?" led to a quick answer and a quick fling on his part. Then again, those females were of closer age to him. Not ten year old girls.

"And then I said, 'come on dad, just one sip! But no, he-"

On the other hand, he hadn't seen Dodgers for ten years. He might not see him for another ten. And from the sound of things he was still a master of brewing sucrosol, so Francis's loss might be his gain.

"Sure," the gunrunner said. "I'll come in."

Thunder rolled in the background. Buck opened the door, surprised to see that the interior of the warehouse was completely dark. If not for the flash of lighting behind him, he wouldn't have been able to see anything.

"Um, kid?" Buck asked. "Your dad usually go to bed this early?"

"No. But I'm sure it's fine." Francis walked in. "Dad! Dad, you in here?!"

There was no answer. Buck entered as well, but as he pulled the door behind him, he stopped, not fully closing it. His instinct was telling him something. And another kind of instinct was prompting him to obey.

"Dad!" the girl called out into the gloom. "Where are you?!"

"Maybe he's out?" Buck asked.

"And leave the door unlocked? Nah. Dad!"

Buck looked around. The only windows were on the second level, but it was enough to see a flash of lighting briefly cast some light into the room. And as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he began to see more of it. It looked fine. Up on the second level he could see the section that Dodgers had explained doubled as his office and living quarters, down to kitchen, bedroom, even bathroom.

_And he also mentioned that the lights were controlled from there. So if he's up there, why hasn't he turned them on?_

"Dad!" Francis called out, running ahead a bit and spinning around in a spot. "Where are you?!"

Buck flexed his fingers. A shiver ran down his spine, and not just from the water that still clung to his back.

"Dad! You…" Francis trailed off. Watching her, Buck could see that something had caught her eye. He watched as she ran over to it. Watched her find the shattered mirror.

"It didn't say anything," she whispered, staring at the broken frame. "Said nothin'…"

Buck walked over. He watched as she picked up a shard of glass. She held it up to him.

"It's broken," she said, stating the obvious. "My mirror be broke."

Buck grabbed her. "Come on kid, move."

"No!" she yelled. "Where's ma dad?! What happened to ma mirror?!"

"Kid, I'm just as curious, but-"

"Ma dad!" she yelled, throwing the shard to the floor, shattering it. "Where is he?! What happened?!"

Lighting flashed, illuminating the warehouse, brighter than ever before. Or at least, that was what Buck thought at first. Because the light that filled the warehouse was too bright for a single lightning bolt. Rather, it was electricity of another kind. The light bulb kind. The kind that filled up the entire warehouse, illuminating everything. Everything from the blood on the workbench, to-

"Hello Mister Smith."

To the trio of figures on the upper level. Two of them holding laser rifles, the third standing between them with a pistol holstered, a black bag by his side.

"Hello," Buck said. "Are you the landlord?"

"I am now," the man said.

"Did Dodgers tell you my name? It's not real you know."

"I know that," the man said. He took a step forward. "And by the time I'm through with you, your name will be nothing but an alpha-numeric code branded on your forehead.

And on cue, the other two figures raised their laser rifles, pointing them downwards. Buck stood his ground, focussing his gaze on the man in the centre. Grey haired, grey eyed, his only distinguishing feature a scar along his left cheek, running up to his ear. And his phase armour, bearing the sigils of the Dominion and his rank. The type of man who could command outside the field, but was also willing to go into it. The type of man that kept Buck standing his ground, weighing up his options and counting his cards.

"Hey, you! Bozo!"

Cards that Francis was intent on playing before him.

"Kid, don't," Buck whispered, but it was to no effect. She walked forward confidently, either oblivious or uncaring of the fact that there were men with guns, and that one of them was training his gun on her while the other kept it focussed on the smuggler.

"This is ma house!" Francis yelled, coming to a stop and putting her hands on her hips. "Whatcha doin' here?!"

The commander looked down at her before looking over to Buck. "I see you're into little girls Mister Smith. I'm really not sure what people might think of your…_niche, _interests."

"Hey, 'am talkin' to you!" Francis yelled. "Where's ma dad!?"

"Young miss, at best, you're looking at eight years of state education," the commander snapped. "If you don't be quiet, I'll make that ten years of state incarceration!"

"Ma dad!" Francis yelled, and Buck could hear a quiver in her voice. "Where is he?!"

The commander sighed. At first he looked like he was going to answer her question. Instead, he shifted his gaze to Buck.

"Mister Smith, Buck, whatever your name is, you're under arrest," he said. "Gunrunning, smuggling, sedition, consorting with criminals, and-"

"**Where's. My. Father!?"**

Francis wasn't giving up. Sighing, the commander kicked the bag beside him off the upper level to the ground. A rather big bag, as Buck saw. A body bag. Francis ran over.

"Francis, don't!"

Buck started to run after her, but stopped, as he saw both soldiers train their rifles on him. Gritting his teeth, he glanced back at the door. He might be able to make a run for it before they could properly open fire. But at this distance, he couldn't get Francis out in time.

_And why does that matter?_

Buck knew the answer. It mattered, because he already knew what was in that bag. He knew what Francis would see as she unzipped it. And he closed his eyes as a wail filled the warehouse.

"Dad! No! Dad!"

"There's your father," the commander said. "The fate that awaits all criminals that don't surrender!"

"You bastard!" Francis yelled. "I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!"

The commander drew his pistol. Buck took a step forward but again, self-preservation took over.

"Young miss, you are not beyond redemption, but keep this up, and you'll see that even I have my limits."

Francis let out another wail and collapsed by Dodgers' body, sobs filling the warehouse. Had she done the same thing in the crash, Buck wondered? Had Dodgers comforted her then? He looked up at the commander.

"She's right you know," Buck spat. "You really are a bastard."

"Those who defy the law often think that of those who uphold it."

"And that involves killing people?!"

"Miln Actium. Constantine Lepidus. Libra Pius."

"What?"

"The three men you killed today," the commander said. "At Happy Reddy's. Men just doing whose lives you ended without a second thought."

"I…" Buck fell silent. Not just because the man was right. But because Francis looked up from Dodgers's body and looked at the smuggler also.

"Buck?" she whispered. "You…you killed…?"

"Yes, girly, he killed three men, and when this is all over I'll have to write letters of condolence to their families," the commander spat. "He's the reason your father's dead. He stirred the hornets' nest. He paid your father in a way that let us track him. He came into your life with his degeneracy and we've all paid the price for it."

Buck saw something out of the corner of his eye, in one of the shards of glass of the broken mirror. Two other Cassians coming from behind. Having not closed the door, he'd never heard it open. He turned back to the commander, avoiding Francis's gaze.

"Those men made their choice," he said. "I did what-"

"Don't play high-ground Buck," the commander sneered. "We're all standing in the mud. Only difference is, the Dominion has the ability to get its people out of it."

"When you're not keeping them in the shit."

The commander chuckled. "Surrender now Buck, or you'll see how deep the shit really gets."

It must have been a cue. The final offer. Because Buck could see the other two soldiers on the balcony tighten their grip. He could see the soldiers behind him take aim. He could see Francis staring at the floor, unable to meet anyone's gaze. Unable to decide who to hold accountable.

Buck couldn't blame her.

But as lightning crashed, it didn't stop him from cartwheeling to the side, grabbing a shard of glass and throw it into the neck of one of the Cassians behind him, sending him falling down into the other.

* * *

Octavius didn't need to yell "fire." Augustus and Corporal Vettii were already doing so. And free from the burdens of command, Octavius opened fire as well.

It didn't do much good. Private Verenae was lying on the warehouse floor, blood spilling out of his neck. Private Trimalchio tried to engage their foe in close quarters, but as Buck did a backflip, his boots making contact with the man's jaw, he fell to the floor as well, out cold.

"Fire!"

So Octavius gave the order. To ensure that Augustus and Vettii kept firing. Kept their position as he walked along the walkway to get a better shot, even as Buck took cover behind a forklift.

"Cover the door!" Octavius yelled to his subordinates. He lined up his laser pistol on the upper level's railing, lining up his sights. "Come on, you bastard," he whispered. "Come on."

A mag round sailed into the wall behind him, courtesy of a blind shot from Buck. Scowling, Octavius glanced down. The other criminal's body was still there. His daughter wasn't.

_Now where'd she-_

Another mag round sailed through the air. In response, the other Cassians let out another round of lasers, tearing into the walls around the door.

"Blindfire isn't going to do you much good Mister Smith!" Octavius yelled. "Just stop wasting your time and life!"

Another mag round sailed through the air. Again, it hit nothing. Octavius smirked and lined up his sights. Sooner or later, Buck would emerge from cover, either to try and escape, or to gain a line of sight for a more accurate shot. And when that happened, he'd see how superior Cassian accuracy was.

"Come on," he whispered as yet more lasers went towards their target. "Come on…"

Another mag round sailed through the air. Only this time, it hit something – the light above the upper level.

"Shit!"

Octavius stumbled as super-heated glass fell down around him, the sudden lack of light not helping. It was a lack of light that caused his subordinates to stumble as well. And as more mag rounds came towards them, Octavius realized that the Cassians' loss had become the human's gain. Because he was running towards them, mag pistols blazing.

"Fire!"

He yelled. They fired. Buck kept running, but to what end, Octavius couldn't be sure. They had the high ground. Getting closer would make it easier for Buck to be shot, and he was still outnumbered and outgunned. He watched as the human jumped. As a portal appeared in front of him. And as he disappeared through it.

_Shit!_

Spellslinging. The man was a bloody spellslinger. Private Trajan's report had suggested as much, but Octavius had completely forgotten about it. And as his mind raced, he watched as the human appeared on the upper level, sailing out through the wormhole and knocking out Vettii with a flying kick while still firing.

_Come on. Come on!_

Octavius ducked as the mag rounds sailed over his head. He grit his teeth as Augustus let out a cry, as he fell down, taking a mag round to the leg. He snarled as a mag round nicked his phase armour, the heat drifting up towards him.

"Come on!"

And he yelled as he slammed into the human, sending them both flying out a window.

The wind howled and the rain beat down along with the glass as they tumbled down the roof. Buck yelled something as he swung a fist, hitting Octavius in the forehead. Yelling in turn, Octavius punched him back. The blows came back and forth, right until the two tumbled off the room and onto the ground. Buck landed on the bottom.

_Got you now you wretched-_

Buck killed Octavius off him and sprung to his feet. He reached for his pistols, and Octavius grinned – he'd lost them.

"Never bring a knife to a gunfight," the commander sneered. He drew out his own pistol. "Or fists."

And he fired, hitting the human in his right leg. Buck yelled as his flesh burnt under the laser's heat.

"Did that hurt?" Octavius sneered, walking over to the human. "Here, let me help."

He kicked his foe in the chest, causing him to fall to the ground. Octavius knelt down in turn, and grabbed Buck's right wrist as he tried to throw a punch.

"Don't worry," he whispered. "The rain will wash the blood away."

And he punched the man. Blood spurted out of his nose. His head rolled back.

And Octavius punched Buck in the same spot again.

And again.

And again.


	5. Tears in the Rain

**WildStar: Storm**

**Chapter 5: Tears in the Rain**

Blood ran down Buck's face.

It mixed with the rain. It fed the soil. It disappeared into it.

The face of Octavius didn't. It was blurred thanks to both the rain and his hazy vision, but the Cassian was still there before him. Still in front of the rain and lighting. As if a god himself had come down to smite him. Or kick him in the side as the case was.

"There," the Cassian said. "That's enough."

"Fuck you," Buck whispered. Octavius kicked him again.

"Your defiance is wasted," the commander said. "It's over."

"It's not over," Buck murmured. "There'll always be people like me. Willing to stand up to you. Willing to fight the good fight. Willing to-

Octavius shot him in the other leg. And the gunrunner couldn't help it. He screamed.

"You little shit," Octavius whispered, kneeling down and grabbing the human by the scruff of his duster. "You think I don't know that? You think I believe that incarcerating you will solve the chaos your kind sow?"

Buck stared at him. The commander wiped away some of his hair from his eyes, plastered to them by the rain.

"Don't take the moral highground Buck. When I kill, I do so for a reason. I may not like being on this planet, but I still do my job. But you, the Exiles, every rebel out there. You bring chaos. You bring death. You bring destruction. All because you can't accept your place in the galaxy."

"The places you want to keep people in aren't the ones they want to be, jackass," Buck sneered. "Keep pushing down, people will start pushing back."

Octavius stood up. He brought a boot down on one of the laser wounds. The human yelled in pain.

"This," Octavius said, "is pushing down." He pressed his boot down even harder. "But tell me – if I hadn't shot you, would it hurt as much?"

Buck remained silent.

"The pushing keeps you in place. The pushing allows the gears to turn, the river to flow, and order to continue. You wound that order, you end up wounding yourself."

"Bullshit."

"Is it?" Octavius whispered. "Wouldn't your friend still be alive if not for you?"

"You're the one who shot him."

"And you're the one that forced my hand."

Buck spat at him. "You're a slike, you know that? All credit, no blame."

"And did _you _take responsibility for your actions?" Octavius asked. "My men you killed? You drew first blood Buck. Not me."

"The Dominion put me in the position to come here."

"And it was your choice to rebel in the first place."

Buck lay there. Even as the rain came down, as thunder roared, as the wind howled, he just lay there.

In a way, Octavius was right. He'd shot first. He'd killed first. Maybe not in the overall galactic situation, but certainly on this planet. And he'd paid Dodgers in a method that had been tracked. That had got him killed.

But then again, Octavius had pulled the trigger.

"You're not here to capture me, are you?" Buck said eventually.

"What?"

"You're still talking. I'm still lying here. You haven't summoned any more of your cronies. And you shot Dodgers, so I'm guessing you're quite good at executions."

"Your bodycount's still higher."

"So? Now's your chance to get closer." Buck spat at him. "Go on then. One more body."

Octavius drew his pistol. He pointed it at the gunrunner.

"See?" the human hissed. "Responsibility. It's hard keeping people alive, isn't it? Only difference is, you make conscious choices."

"Calculated choices."

"Yeah. And that makes you even more of a bastard."

Rage crossed Octavius's face, and Buck knew it was over. He'd be shot here. Octavius would spin whatever story he wanted and still likely get a pat on the back for it. At least this way, the Dominion wouldn't get any info out of him. At least this way, he could keep some of his pride. And at least this way, he wouldn't have to live in his own guilt, knowing that in some ways, Octavius was right about what he'd said. Three deaths in the bar. And one more distinct death in the warehouse.

Lighting flashed. Octavius prepared to fire. Buck closed his eyes.

And heard a boom. But it wasn't thunder. And it wasn't the type of sound a laser gun made.

_The hell?_

Buck opened his eyes. Octavius stood there. He dropped his pistol from his right hand, and put his left to his stomach. Blood was pouring out of it, a hole having been made in his phase armour.

_Son of a-_

Another 'boom' rang out. Octavius stumbled backwards, blood now pouring from his right shoulder blade. His phase armour wasn't doing its job, Buck noticed, and he soon realized why. These weren't laser blasts, these were slug blasts, and phase armour was specifically designed to deal with the former. And a third 'boom' only reinforced that fact.

_Shit!_

The 'boom' missed its target. But Octavius nonetheless stumbled off, leaving his pistol behind, scrambling for cover. Shifting his position, fighting to ignore the pain in his legs and the blood on his face, Buck turned to face the source.

"Francis?"

The girl stood there, a smoking revolver in her hands. She just stood there, in the rain. Staring.

"Nice shots," Buck said. He watched as she started to walk over to him. "If you could help me get up, I-"

He stopped talking. There was no talking to the barrel of a gun.

And as the girl pointed the revolver at him, that was what he was facing down.

* * *

Blood ran from Octavius's stomach.

It ran through the rain. It fed the soil. It disappeared into it.

His vision didn't disappear however. As hazy as it was, as much water ran through his eyes, he kept stumbling. Staggering. Cursing.

_Fucking…criminals…_

It was getting harder to think. It was getting harder to walk. Letting out a gasp, the Cassian tumbled to the ground.

_Dirt…where they belong._

It was more like mud as the rain pounded into the soil. Nothing grew here. Not even Octavius's blood would feed the world enough for that to happen. Not even as he ploughed the dirt with his fingers, crawling at it. Trying to move.

_Need…help…_

No-one came. Everyone was keeping indoors. If they'd heard the sounds of gunfire, they hadn't reacted. Octavius opened his mouth to call. To scream. To curse. All that came out was blood.

_Can't…_

Coughing, he fell down. He couldn't go on. He closed his eyes, letting the rain wash down his eyelids, as if they were tears.

_I'm going to die here, _he told himself. _I'll die. Out of sight, out of mind, below the stars. Below _dirt_!_

His ears registered another sound. Not wind, not thunder, not even lighting. Rather, it was a crunching sound. As if something was churning up the ground. As if, someone was walking on it.

"Commander?"

_Augustus?_

Using his hands, Octavius pushed himself up, high enough to be able to roll over onto his back. Just moving caused him pain, but at least his stomach wasn't lying below him. Instead, it was facing upwards. Towards the sky. Towards Augustus.

"You're wounded," the master sergeant said.

Octavius coughed up blood in response.

"You're in pain."

"How…observant…of you," Octavius rasped.

"If we don't get you medical attention you could expire."

"Thank you…for the…insight."

Augustus stood there. Octavius lay there. The rain kept pouring down. The heavens continued to do battle.

"Well?" Octavius asked. "Are you…going to…help me?"

"No."

Octavius's eyes widened. A chill ran down his spine, and not just from the cold.

"I'm wounded, but will heal," Augustus said, rubbing pulling up part of his fatigues to reveal the wound the mag round had caused. "You're wounded, and will die." He kneeled down.

"Augustus, you-"

"I will be the highest ranking survivor of this little debacle. One that involved four Cassian deaths along with one local. Dominion Command won't miss you. And nor will the people of this world."

"I am…your…commanding officer."

"Were," Augustus said, kneeling down and taking Octavius's tags from his armour. He pocketed them. "The official tale will read that you gave these to me in your last moments. Maybe you'll get a posthumous citation along with everything else that built up in your file."

Octavius looked around desperately. Just moving his head brought pain. His entire body felt stiff. Like a corpse.

"Buck…killed my men…not…me," Octavius rasped.

"There'll always be men like Buck. There'll always be men like you." The NCO rose to his feet, stumbling only slightly due to his wounded leg. "With your death, maybe I can serve under a commander who _isn't _like you."

He turned around and began to walk away.

"But why?!" Octavius yelled, coughing up even more blood. "You never said anything! Did anything! You never voiced objection! Why…betray…me?"

Augustus stopped walking. Octavius stopped coughing. The wind kept howling. The heavens kept battling.

"Why?" Octavius whispered. "Why?"

Augustus sighed. "Even those who don't talk, even those who can't speak…that doesn't mean they don't have a voice." He glanced back at his commander. "All you have to do is listen."

In those last moments, Octavius listened.

He heard Augustus's voice.

After that, he heard nothing.

* * *

Buck had had many guns pointed at him over the years. Some of them had even been as close as the revolver whose barrel he was staring down. But none of them had ever been held by a ten year old girl.

"Hey kid."

The girl in question kept pointing.

"You want to put that away?"

Still the girl kept the revolver aimed at him.

"Francis, I appreciate the rescue but-"

"Don't talk to me," she hissed. "Don't you _dare _talk to me."

Buck realized a few things then and there. First, his reflection was pointless – no ten year old girl had ever pointed a gun at him, but he'd never been with someone so young before. Not at this age. And what he also realized was that the water pouring down the girl's face, weaving its way through her hair down her skin, past her freckles, wasn't just the rain. It was tears.

"Is it true?" she whispered.

"Is…what?"

"Is it true?!" the girl yelled. "Is my dad dead because of you?!"

And no ten year old girl's father had died because of him. Unless those Cassians had children. Unless everyone else he'd killed had children. Who were girls. And ten years of age. Francis's finger was on the trigger. But in a way, Buck reflected, she wasn't the only one holding the gun.

"In…in the warehouse," Francis said, her chatty nature gone, her voice breaking. "The man. He said you'd killed men. He said my father was dead because of you."

"Dodgers wasn't your father Francis. And he killed too."

"Answer me!" Francis yelled. "Answer me, or I swear, I _swear_, I won't miss."

Buck stared at her. She was angry. He wanted to be angry too. Like guilt, anger was an emotion. An emotion that was good at masking others. And right now, he wanted something to get rid of that guilt.

"Is it true?" Francis whispered, still holding the gun, ignoring the elements. "Tell me. If it's the only truth you ever say, tell me."

Buck sighed. He faced the ground. He'd stared down draken, gawked at aurin, even gone toe to toe with a granok. But he could all face them. Meet their gaze. In her own way, Francis was more deadly than any of them.

"I killed four men today," Buck said. "I've killed at least five times that number over the course of my life."

"But why?" Francis asked.

"Because that's how the galaxy works," Buck snapped. "I'm a killer. Your father was a killer. You're a killer."

"I'm not a killer!"

"You shot that Cassian, you saved me," Buck said. "You chose my life over his."

"I…" Francis's hands trembled. "I…I…"

Buck made his move. He grabbed the revolver, the weapon in his hands before Francis could react.

"Slug weapon," the gunrunner said, looking at the pistol. "Guess Dodgers was willing to use antiques as well." He waved it at Francis. "You knew where to get this?"

"D…dad said…if I needed it…"

Buck sighed. His legs still burnt from the laser wounds, but that was nothing some bio-gel wouldn't heal. But that wasn't what concerned him. It-

He grabbed Francis's hand. It had shot out, aiming for the revolver. She stared at him. Glared at him through her tears.

"You're not there yet," Buck said.

"Is it true?" she whispered. "Is my dad dead because of you?"

Buck sighed. He put his other hand over hers. He let out a sigh, and closed his eyes.

"It's true."

He kept his eyes closed. He didn't want to see the girl's face.

"I didn't pull the trigger, but I stirred the hornets' nest. I used a payment method that let the Dominion track Dodgers down. I let my guard down. And…and Dodgers…paid the price for that."

Francis sobbed. She yanked her hands free and fell to the ground. She cried. She wailed. Even the thunder and lightning seemed to fall silent. Even the wind seemed to die down.

"I'll kill you," she whispered. "I'll kill you…"

"You're not the one with the gun," Buck said.

"I'll kill you!" she spat. She glared at him, her eyes like that of a tiger. "You…you won't…"

Buck sighed. He opened up the revolver's firing chamber. It had room for six rounds, and Francis had fired three earlier. He casually took out two of the bullets and spun the chamber around so that the last round was in position to be fired.

"Here," he said, handing it to Francis. "Take it."

She stared at him for a moment before grabbing it. Another moment passed before she stood up and aimed it at him. Hands trembling, eyes blazing with fire and tears, but aiming it at him just the same.

"Octavius was right you know," Buck said. "I drew first blood. I stirred the hornets' nest. I didn't think."

"And my father's dead."

Buck nodded. He got up and knelt down on one knee, bearing the pain.

"And I can avenge him."

"You can, if you want," Buck said. "But you've only got one chance."

"I'll take it," she whispered. "I…I…"

"Lost your parents, and the closest man to a parent you ever knew. You've got every right to want me dead."

"And you're letting me."

Buck sighed. He closed his eyes. He saw Dodgers's face staring right back at him. He saw the face of those Cassians staring back at him. He saw the face of everyone he'd ever run afoul of staring back at him. He kept his eyes closed. Yet also opened them for the first time.

"You don't care," Francis exclaimed. "You don't care if you live or die!"

"It's your choice," he murmured.

"Why?"

"Because I've never made a choice. I've never weighed the consequences. And…" He choked something back down his throat. "And I don't have the right to decide if I pay for that or not."

He opened his eyes. Dodgers's face faded from his mind. Francis's replaced it.

"One shot, one choice," he said. "I know you'll make the right one."

And he knelt there. Francis stood there.

And remained standing.

She stood there for a long time. Buck closed his eyes.

Only then did she pull the trigger.


	6. Epilogue: Straight On Till Morning

**WildStar: Storm**

**Epilogue: Straight on Till Morning**

"This is the Star Dodger calling Dante Station, over."

"Dante Station here. You…um…"

"What?"

Kit Francis Brinny just sat there in the captain's seat. The comms offer stared back at her.

"Aren't you a bit young?" the man asked. "I mean, you-"

"I'm sixteen you space-wonger! I can fly this ship, I'm transporting more guns and glory than you've ever seen, and I've been to more star systems than you can name! Now give me clearance before I shove my boot so far up your arse that you taste the abreu-shit I stepped in last week!"

"Alright, alright," the comms officer said. "Geez, don't get your balls in a twist."

Kit rolled her eyes. She didn't know whether "balls" was an insult or a compliment. Apparently male courage was associated with their reproductive tracts, so it was a concept a bit beyond her.

"Dock five," the comms officer said. "See ya Kitty."

Kit opened her mouth, but the comms officer had already terminated the link, the image of him disappearing to show the darkness of space with the small grey blot that was _Dante Station _in the centre of it.

"Jackass," she murmured. Regardless, she set the course and let the auto-pilot take over. She lay back in her chair.

"Heads up kiddo."

And she spun around to catch the can of neutro-cola that Buck tossed her way.

"Nice catch."

Kit scowled. She hated being called "kiddo," just as much as she hated being called "Francis," and Buck was willing to use both terms. And she felt that resentment twist away in her even further as she saw the gunrunner pop open a can of rocket power – an alcoholic beverage that he insisted she couldn't have until she was eighteen. Piloting ships was fine, risking life and limb for the Exile cause was fine, even having a revolver strapped to her thigh was fine, but beer? That had to wait apparently.

"So, station's accepted us then?" Buck asked. He walked up to the head of the ship. "No problems?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Kit said. "I mean, there was this guy, and he was like, what ya doin' here? And then I said, I got business. So then _he _said-"

"A simple 'no' would have sufficed."

Kit fell silent. Every so often, Buck called her out on her tendency to ramble. And always, she kept on doing the same thing.

"Auto-pilot's working fine then," Buck continued.

"Fine," Kit said.

"Good investment then."

"Yeah."

Silence filled the cockpit. The auto-pilot was a recent upgrade to a ship they'd bought only two years ago, a replacement for Buck's run down system runner, and so named in honour of Dodgers. Looking back, Kit couldn't remember who had suggested the name first – it was something they'd both come up with on their own.

"Listen, Francis-"

"Kit, ya drongo."

"Fine, Kit," Buck said. He took his place in the co-pilot's seat. "We need to talk."

"Oh so _now _you want me to talk? That's funny. Usually you want me to stay quiet and-"

"I know you're planning on leaving."

Kit took another sip of her neutron-cola. She met her partner's gaze. He just stared back at her.

"You can't stop me you know," she said.

"I know. But I'd like to think that we parted on good terms. And that you wanted to fight the Dominion for the right reasons."

Kit snorted and leant back in her chair. "Right reasons. Yeah. Sure. Like that matters."

"It matters to you, I know that much."

Kit scowled, even as she leant back. She gazed up at the ceiling, watching a hanging decoration of a kettler bird fly around. One of the few souvenirs she'd taken from Cawly, and the only one besides the revolver that she still held onto. She'd seen so much over the last half-decade. Seen the arm of the Dominion, how they took and took and took. She was surprised she'd managed to hold on to anything. And surprised that after all this time, she'd only decided to partake in the Exiles' stand against them directly.

"Well, here's to six years then," Buck said. He stretched out his can. "Here's to us, eh?"

Kit clinked her beverage half-heartedly and bit her lip. She wanted to speak. To say the words she'd wanted to over the past six years.

"Buck, I-"

And she couldn't. The one thing she couldn't ramble on, or even talk about like a normal human being. Six years had passed since Cawly. Six years since Dodgers had died, since Buck had taken her under his wing, and treated her like…like something else. Not a daughter. Not a partner. Just something else. And she'd often wondered about that moment, especially when she had to use the revolver she'd carried on from that moment. When she'd fired her last bullet. She'd often asked herself whether she'd intentionally altered her aim to not hit Buck…or whether she'd missed.

"Why'd you take me?" Kit blurted out.

"Hmm?"

"After Cawly. When my da…when Dodgers died. When I nearly killed you. Why'd you give me the gun?' Kit tossed her now empty cola can down to the end of the cockpit, adding to the pile of similar cans in the corner. "I fired it. You survived. And you took me anyway."

"Well, you didn't shoot me," Buck pointed out.

"I might have. How'd you know I didn't miss?"

"I dunno. Do you know?"

Kit opened her mouth. Then closed it.

"Listen kid," Buck said. "You're leaving. I get that. I'm willing to let you go for the same reason I gave you the gun all those years ago."

"And what's that?"

"That you'd make the right choice."

"And not killing you after everything you did?" she asked. "Was that _right_?"

"I didn't know then, and I don't know now. But that you made it speaks for itself."

"And you think I'm a good judge of that?"

Buck smiled. "Better than most people I've seen."

Kit remained silent. For a moment, she felt like Francis again. Like the ten year old naïve girl that the man in front of her had picked up on Cawly. Pulled her out of the rain, just as Dodgers had pulled her out of the flames. Everything from the wonder of exploring the Westerland, to the horror of seeing her adoptive father's body before her. At this moment in time, she didn't know whether to thank Buck for everything, or hate him for it.

The sound of docking clamps was the only answer the universe provided.

Nodding, Buck headed for the side hatch. Silently, Kit remained standing. She felt like she'd lost her voice. Sooner or later she'd have to speak. Sooner or later she'd have to leave. And taking a breath, she settled on sooner.

"Buck?"

The gunrunner looked up from the door. Kit walked over. Her hand reached for the revolver.

"Yeah?"

And the hand instead raised to meet his.

"Thank you," Kit said. "For everything."

Buck stood there for a moment, his face impassive. Kit stood there as well. From outside, someone knocked on the door and shouted "hurry up." And patting the girl on the shoulder, Buck imitated the motion.

"No problem kid," he said. "No problem."

**The End**

* * *

_A/N_

_Well, that's that. Guess this didn't go over well, but hopefully as _WildStar _nears release, there'll be more interest in, among other things, writing stories in its setting. That being said, I currently don't have any plans to do such a thing in the near future. For what it's worth, I'm currently working on an _Elysium _story titled _Facing the Music _at this time of writing._


End file.
